


the enemies outside (the enemies within)

by cathalin



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Canon Continuation, Canon-Typical References to Implied Child Sexual Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical sexual dynamics, Future Fic, M/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathalin/pseuds/cathalin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have an affinity for breaking through windows,” Laurent said. Immediately, he regretted it. It recalled times when they were beginning their rapprochement. He did not want rapprochement. He did not want anything between them.</p><p>When there is no enemy within, the enemies outside cannot hurt you. – Winston Churchill</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxxcub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxxcub/gifts).



> Thank you to foxxcub for such a great prompt for Captive Prince! I sure didn't mean for this to be this long - sorry about that! - but it really did inspire me, and like you, I've been waiting forever for the next part of the story. Writing in Laurent's pov per your prompt was super challenging, so hopefully that part will work for you, but in any case, it only made me love him MORE, which I didn't think was possible (Damen too). Thank you for being such a great recipient, and I hope you enjoy.

They threw Damen down onto the floor beside Laurent. It took about ten burly men to get him there, even trussed up as he was. As many to hold him in place, face pushed hard to the cold floor with their boots. Damen looked in worse shape than Laurent: covered all over in mud and blood, a large gash in his cheek, abrasions everywhere he had exposed skin. He was alive, then.

Damen was alive.

Years of experience helped Laurent to quash any visible reaction. He’d been quite certain Damen would be kept alive and relatively intact for now, for many reasons, but there had been a few moments when that certainty had faltered. It had been seven days since they had parted, with the plan to meet at Fortaine. They’d indeed met there, but the pincer trap ended up trapping them instead of the Regent’s forces.The Regent’s challenge had been a lie; his main force had not been at Charcy, but at Fontaine. 

Laurent had anticipated deception, but not this particular one. Hopefully, his own deceptions would be enough. He of course had a backup plan or two ready for just this contingency. However, he’d made a potentially fatal mistake in its timing; it was quite possible the contingency plan would not arrive in time to help, if things continued to accelerate out of control like they seemed to be now.

His mind had been working assiduously on the problem since his capture. He considered options. Things were moving very quickly, and a false step could be instantly fatal. Possibilities spooled out in front of him, many of which were… not good.

He brought his thoughts back with diamond precision to the immediate problem. He had long, specific experience with what it took to do that. The stakes here were even higher. Now both he and Damen were on a knife edge. And the knife was death. Instant or, depending on the needs of his Uncle and Kastor, drawn-out.

Laurent felt more than saw his Uncle approach. He couldn’t see very well through the caked blood from the gash on his forehead, but he recognized the particular red of the Regent’s boots. Laurent risked a glance towards Damen, whose gaze he felt on him like a heavy cloak. Damen dropped his eyes immediately, then - apparently under some great force of will - brought his gaze slowly back up, meeting Laurent’s eyes. Laurent saw him focus on the blood on Laurent’s face. Laurent’s position of obeisance. He read anger in Damen’s expression, and something else - something that made Damen have to fight, muscle in his jaw working, to keep meeting Laurent’s eyes. 

Guilt. Perhaps he could use that.

“Nephew,” his Uncle said.

Laurent fought the urge to struggle against the boot holding him down. He had decided a very long time ago to give Uncle no further such satisfactions.

“It grieves me so, that my brother’s son proves not only degenerate, but traitor in the end.” The crimson boots moved in a circle around Laurent.

A movement from where Damen lay, then the sound of boots impacting, a muffled sound of pain.

“Enough,” the Regent said after some time. “We are not barbarians, like some. Besides, we wish him alive and well enough to know what his actions have accomplished. Enough to experience his own execution.” A pause. “Or whatever other pleasures our brother monarch has in store for him.”

Damen made noise again at the “brother monarch” part, with the predictable result; this time, the guards aimed at his kidneys.

“You are no monarch,” Laurent said, loudly and clearly as possible. He was speaking to the Councillors ringing the chamber. “And if your brother was still alive, he’d spit on you. You are the traitor. You have usurped the crown from its rightful owner. You show your stripes by this treatment of our person.”

There was a low, careful murmur in the room. Then, “Let him up. He is dangerous because deceitful, but he's been de-fanged.”

Laurent pushed himself to sitting, then to standing, swallowing a gasp from the pain of his ribs. He straightened his spine. “I urge you to kneel, Uncle,” he said. “While you have the opportunity.” 

There was a muffled sound from Damen on the ground. It could not be a laugh. And yet.

“He has more royalty in one strand of his hair than you do in your entire--” Damen said to the Regent, but it was cut off harshly by the guards.

“Gag him,” the Regent said. It took a while but it was accomplished.

The Regent sighed. “Oh, nephew, I am sorry you leave me no options. I have tried all these years. Provided guidance and love and everything my brother would have wished, despite your unnatural nature. But you--Well, I will say no more; your own actions damn you as nothing I say can. We have provided you many opportunities to redeem yourself. We have been more than fair.” He nodded to the guards. “Let the barbarian kneel up; this will be… instructive.”

Laurent watched out of the corner of his eyes as Damen unfurled himself from the floor. He couldn’t help noticing those broad shoulders, which were attempting to escape his tunic.

“Even now he cannot get his mind out of the gutter,” his Uncle said. “Even now he thinks only of his tame barbarian.”

“My lord,” Councillor Etienne said diffidently. “Despite what he has done, perhaps his youth and noble blood should be taken into account. Certainly he is not fit to rule, but out of respect to his lineage, perhaps we should not--” 

“Respect,” the Regent said, voice dripping honey. Laurent did not think Etienne would see another sunrise. Definitely not as Councillor, that was certain. “Let us consider how much _respect_ he has shown, how much loyalty to Vere.”

“You dare speak of loyalty,” Laurent said. 

The crack of the Regent’s hand across Laurent’s face echoed in the large chamber.

“No,” Laurent said in Damen’s direction, short and commanding. Damen quieted. 

Laurent remembered what Damen had said to him, before, about his reactions to his uncle, how his uncle used his emotions to make him do things that were unwise. He measured his breathing. Remembered what his goal was here.

“Let everyone hear this, then,” the Regent said, barely managing to keep his satisfaction contained. He turned back to Laurent. “Let everyone know that all this time you’ve been whoring yourself out to the barbarian for his big cock?” He smiled, a parody of amusement. “He’s had the last laugh, because.” His smile grew as he let the seconds tick away, until the room was totally silent. “He is Damianos, Prince of Akielos. The same foul stain who murdered your own brother in cold blood.”

Damen made a harsh sound, swayed toward Laurent.

Laurent forced his body still. He let blood drain out of his face, let his hands curl into fists. “Lies,” he said, letting doubt color his voice.

“You know it is true. Only your own blindness kept you from knowing it. Your own depravity.” The Regent’s voice grew outraged, choked with anger and emotion. “My brother would have died rather than see this happen, the shame of it. Not just letting the enemy into his bed, but begging him for it. And all that time, Damianos spying on you, on us, infiltrating our land. Obtaining the loyalty of your armies.” He shook his head. Looked the picture of grieved. “All that time, all that time with you begging him to fuck you just that much harder? Ass in the air, spreading for it like the whore you have always been.”

Around the hall there were a few gasps, quickly stifled.

His uncle moved a few steps and stood in front of where Damen lay. Or rather, was held down on the floor. “And all this time, all this time, he was preparing an invasion. Only this invasion did not require marches or battles. It happened from inside, with no casualties.” He turned back to Laurent, and let his words fall into the total silence: “Other than Vere.”

Laurent stayed quiet, taking it. A glance sideways showed him Damen: stricken, paler than should be possible. Making sounds behind the gag.

A low murmur of horrified sound ran around the chamber.

Damen’s head was down, his aspect guilty. Yet there was a stubbornness in the lines of his body even now.

“Let’s take the gag off,” the Regent said. “I think the traitor deserves to hear what the other traitor has to say.” Guards warily untied the gag. Damen spat out the fabric and pressed his lips together like he wasn’t going to say anything. That could work.

“You disgust me, dog,” Laurent said. He imbued it with all the disdain and disgust he could. 

Damen recoiled, as much as he could, bound as he was.

He couldn’t focus on the look in Damen’s eyes right now or it would be too difficult. “I rue the day I let you live for a second more. Or better, I should have killed you with the lash myself.”

Damen’s mouth twisted. “Laurent, I--”

“How dare you address me, Akielan whore,” Laurent said. He could feel the eyes of the entire court on them. He could see Damen fight the impulse to look at him, but lose. Good. Everything rode on his estimation of Damen being correct. Laurent took a steadying breath, then another. This was the tricky part. He made sure Damen was looking at him - dark eyes, full of feeling, which he ignored - then let the sleeve of his tunic ride up, just a hair, at the precise angle that would allow only Damen to see what was there.

He could see the moment Damen saw it. He observed him startle, then quench the reaction. He had learned at least that much control. Damen’s eyes flicked up to Laurent’s, then away. Laurent could practically see him forcing himself to think it through. Something changed, minutely. The tension in his body was still there, but, Laurent thought, different. Damen darted another quick glance up at him. His eyes were very clear on Laurent. Laurent ignored the twist of something like longing in his chest.

Laurent let his sleeve fall naturally back down over the wrist-cuff. “Not a word in response?” he said mockingly. “Well, not a surprise, considering the value Akielos places on education.” He walked closer to Damen. No one in the crowd seemed concerned. “Or intelligence.”

Damen swallowed. It didn’t come naturally to him, but Laurent saw with a surge of hope that he was going to try.

“All that time, you under me.” Damen stopped, half-choking on the words. Of course he couldn’t fully say something like that, even in these circumstances.

Laurent let his shoulders droop a bit, shame mingling with the anger. “You disgust me. I disgust myself.” His voice turned bitter. “I should kill you right here.” He advanced on Damen. “I could, you know. It wouldn’t matter, you being bigger. I know a thousand ways. It would give me great pleasure.” He spat close enough to Damen’s face that some of it landed on his cheek. “You disgust me.” He turned toward the Regent. “Get him away from me, Uncle. Get him away.”

His uncle let the corner of his mouth twist up. “Certainly, nephew. Or--” he paused to let it sink in. “Or rather, put them together. It pleases me to think of what we may find in the morning. Personally, my money is on my nephew. He did love his brother so much.”

Damen lunged in a direction that could be Laurent or the Regent. Laurent took a step back. “Uncle, no.”

“Silence. I’m done. Take them away. It will be interesting to see who’s left in the morning. Or what is left of each of them.”

“I’m sorry,” the Regent said to the assembled crowd. “I so greatly regret this. Since my brother’s death I have had but one thought, to raise up his son, fit to rule. It has been my life’s work, but. I am afraid I have failed.” He shook his head.

Laurent calculated odds and outcomes. There was one last thing that could possibly stop this now. He swallowed the bile that rose at the very thought of what he might need to speak of. “You speak of raising your brother’s son, and yet you--”

“Silence!” his uncle said. “I can hear no more from this traitor. Gag him,” he ordered, He knew what Laurent was about to speak of. He had waited to silence Laurent until the exact moment. In that way his uncle had. Waiting for the precise moment. Then striking.

The guards were rougher this time; Laurent knew his uncle’s barbs against him had gone home. The gag tasted of something bitter. Laurent calculated the odds it was poison. Not yet, he decided. Hopefully.

His uncle shook his head again, as if disgusted by the sight of Laurent. “I wash my hands. It sickens me to think of you lying down with this beast, this enemy, the very man who took the blood of life from your own brother. If I had set out to design the most terrible thing I could think of, this would more than meet the requirement.”

Laurent let the words sink into him like daggers honed to their sharpest. Most terrible that could be designed, indeed. He could feel the ground trembling faintly. It was coming from Damen’s direction. Laurent could not look in that direction, not now. Presumably, Damen was silently trying to fight his way out of his bonds.

His uncle came to stand over Laurent again. “Then again,” he said, tipping his head to the side as if considering, “you always had… unnatural inclinations about your brother, did you not. But the betrayal of myself ranks as nothing compared to the betrayal of Vere. Anyone who would rank bed sport above loyalty to his own nation, his own father. Well.” He shook his head, perfectly feigning sorrow. “Take him away. Dawn is traditional. We will of course honor whatever is left of his royal blood by following tradition.”

“Loyalty,” Laurent tried to say, but gagged as he was, it came out as nothing more than noise. Then the guards were on him and he was unceremoniously marched into a cell in the dungeon. A dungeon he had thought was no longer in use.


	2. Chapter 2

Damen eyed Laurent warily from across their cell. It wasn’t very far away; the cell was tiny, disgusting. A murky runnel of water ran through one corner, where there was a leaky bucket. A barred window, orange with rust, let in a faint trickle of light from the lanterns in the courtyard outside. There was nothing else in the cell.

“Laurent, I--” Damen took a step toward him, holding out a hand. Damen’s voice was soft, hoarse. He was rubbing at the places where the ropes had cut into his skin; at the end, right before locking them in here, the guards had cut him free. Warily, knife to Damen’s throat.

“Don’t touch me,” Laurent said, voice cutting like that knife had not.

“Please let me--”

“Silence,” Laurent said. He couldn’t--He needed to think. 

Damen’s eyes were on him. After a while, he nodded, then curled into himself, huddled on the far wall.

Laurent needed to think. There were so many things converging in the next few hours. Things that had to come together just so, or it was all over. For both of them.

Despite his desperate need to focus, to quiet his brain and think, his brother - Auguste - kept surfacing in his memory. Golden, strong, straightforward. It made no sense. He’d been able to keep memories of his brother at bay for a long time. Not at first, when Damianos of Akielos arrived in Vere half-naked and covered in paint. He’d known from the first moment he’d laid eyes on him. How could he not. 

He’d known all along. He still remembered the shock of recognition. His desperate attempt to cover his reaction so his uncle wouldn't notice. The anger that dug into his ribs, the points of sharpened ice in his throat.

He’d known during the first moments of unwanted attraction. Guilt and knife-sharp anger mingling with the first stirrings of desire. Reluctant admiration. 

He’d known.

It made no sense that now, of all times, it was a problem again.

And yet.

His brother had been strong, and fair, and utterly without malice. Utterly unable to see the enemies arrayed against him, even as--

“Why did you go, that day?” he asked into the silence. “To the field? To find my--To find Auguste.”

Damen breathed out harshly. “I.” He closed his eyes, lashes dusky against his cheeks. He kept them closed. “I had to ask my father permission to go, but I knew he wished it. He hated Vere, taught me that it was full of liars without honor. Thinking back on it, I believe Kastor may have been encouraging that thinking. But,” he shook his head, “I was old enough, capable enough, it was me, my idea ultimately. I was young and stupid, with a head full of the glory of battle.” He stopped, voice choked. “Laurent, I must explain why I didn’t--” 

“No,” Laurent said. “We are determining how to stay alive. I need time now, silence. None of--Nothing of that. Do not try to speak to me.”

There was silence.

“I am planning. I will tell you when I have one,” he said to the dark corner. _And if the plan includes you_ , he didn’t add, but it was there between them anyway, loud in the darkness.

Damen tilted his head slightly in acquiescence, or at least acknowledgement.

Laurent tried to think.

It was all coming together inside him now. The past, coalescing into a whole, like the reveal of the pattern of a fabric where he’d seen only a few threads. The present, parts coming together, even now -- he hoped -- converging on this place. The future, where--No. There was no future. There couldn’t be, now. Not unless everything worked perfectly. 

It felt like pieces of himself, of his understanding, were rearranging themselves yet again. Like the whole cloth was slowly unfurling.

There were still gaps, though, things he but couldn’t see couldn’t quite see, but felt sure were there.

With great effort, he brought his mind to focus. There were things his uncle did not know or understand. Would they be enough, though? 

After a great while, a sound roused him from his concentration. It didn’t take long to determine the source.

Of course.

If the circumstances weren’t what they were, he might have been tempted to laugh.

Damen was trying his strength against the bars of the tiny window of their cell.

Despite himself, he spoke. “If you estimate either of us can fit through that space, you are dimmer than I even imagined,” Laurent said.

Damen looked at him significantly.

Laurent waved his hand at him. “Speak.”

“Not for escape,” Damen said.

Laurent raised an eyebrow. He wondered how even now, he could be surprised by Damen. His perceptions were just so different.

A strength, he knew. The reason - one of the reasons - he’d manipulated things so they were thrown in here together, though it was a gamble, since perhaps each of them would’ve done better on their own. Certainly, so far, it didn’t appear an advantage to be here together.

“Not directly, at least,” Damen added, as one of the bars started to come free in his hand. It was heavy, with a very sharp edge.

“You have an affinity for breaking through windows,” Laurent said. Immediately, he regretted it. It recalled times when they were beginning their rapprochement. He did not want rapprochement. He did not want anything between them.

Damen nodded silently. Laurent watched while he carefully placed the bar back in its original position in such a way someone probably wouldn’t be able to tell it had been moved, unless they were looking for it. Damen then methodically started working on the window bar next to that one.

~

Much, much later, Laurent half-woke. There was a sliver of moonlight slanting into the cell; it was only hours until dawn, then. The last thing he remembered was shivering, shivering so hard he thought he might come apart from it. Though it was summer, the nights were cool here in the hill country, and it was even cooler underground. There was nothing to serve as a blanket, not even a scrap of fabric, in the dank cell. He’d been shaking so hard, he’d been sure he would never sleep. Somehow, exhaustion had taken him out.

But now, he was warmer.

Warmer: still not warm, exactly, but not the numbing cold of before. 

He became aware of a body behind his. Damen, of course. He was asleep, or so his the deep, steady breaths against Laurent’s neck told him. One of Damen’s arms was wrapped loosely around Laurent’s front, their bodies drawn together. Damen’s top leg was thrown over Laurent’s, as if to give him maximum body heat.

Laurent stiffened reflexively.

Damen’s even breathing stopped. There was utter silence. Then Damen murmured softly, right by Laurent’s ear, “It’s not--You shouldn’t have to be so cold. It’s nothing else, just that. It’s helping me conserve strength, too.”

Laurent didn’t say anything. He considered. Ultimately, it would look weaker to need this to stop. And in truth, he’d been worried the cold would be too much. He couldn’t be so weakened in the morning that he couldn’t speak, or talk. Or fight, if it came to that.

He forced himself to relax, at first just a small slackening of tension in his muscles, then more fully. He felt Damen, behind him, relax as well, arm falling slack, breath evening out. Once more, Laurent found himself marveling at a man who contained so many contradictions. A man who despite all the reasons not to, had inched his way over to where Laurent lay. His touch even now was gentle, undemanding. Inappropriately, Laurent thought about the other night they’d slept together. Gentle hands, soft words. Other things.

He forced himself to stay still despite the rising warmth. Stop his thoughts from wandering. Focus on the dawn that even now was barreling down upon them. This time tomorrow would likely see either him or his uncle dead.

It would not be his uncle. 

~

“You said you’d made arrangements,” Damen murmured as they were led out into the muddy courtyard. The first light of morning filtered sullenly through grey clouds that hovered low. Sounds were oddly muted and amplified by the fog. The clank of their chains made a dank music. 

“Merely a delay, I’m sure.” Laurent couldn’t look at Damen right now or his calm would escape him. Indeed, the minutes were ticking down. Allies should have been here hours ago. He’d had multiple levels of plans; it should have been impossible for them all to go awry.

“How comforting it will be when help arrives after we are dead,” Damen said.

Almost, Laurent wanted to laugh, despite the anger he still carried. “Your natural personality seems to have reasserted itself.” 

“I.” Damen flushed.

Laurent waved a hand. “In truth, I don’t know why they haven’t arrived yet.” He owed that much at least to Damen.

“They,” Damen said.

Laurent glanced at him sideways. “Various.”

Damen visibly restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Basically did roll them. “How informative.”

“What is the point,” Laurent said.

“Well, for one thing,” Damen murmured, drawing as close as he could on the chain he was being led on, “it would help me determine who to kill in the next few moments.”

Laurent nodded. “No one yet. Last stands are for the very end.”

“I don’t take orders from you any more.”

“Don’t you,” Laurent said.

There was silence for a few moments. Damen exhaled. “If you wish it, I will.”

Laurent closed his eyes against the ache in his chest. Despite himself, he felt his limbs loosen from how he’d been holding them: tight from the uncomfortable night, the waiting. “Then hold. Hold until I signal. I have made it this far by fighting only the battles that had to be fought. Wait, wait again, wait more. Until the need is certain.”

Damen’s gaze sharpened on Laurent. “Sometimes, by waiting, you destroy your opportunities.”

Words were trying to fight their way onto Laurent’s tongue. He resisted. Instead, he nodded, sharp.

This time the guards just shoved them unceremoniously to the muddy ground in the courtyard. There were few people in attendance. A smattering of lesser nobles. Wind kicked up debris and swirled it in their faces. A stick hit Damen in the face. He winced, then cocked his head to the side like he was thinking.

Laurent breathed slightly easier when he saw there were two members of the Council here. Not that they would dare speak up against the Regent at this point, at least not without severe provocation; Laurent noticed that ominously - but not surprisingly - Councillor Etienne, the only one courageous - and stupid - enough to speak up last time, was not present.

The Regent and his personal guard swept into the courtyard. This time, there was no pretense. “I find you guilty of high treason,” his uncle said. “I wash my hands of you. Vere would be safer in the hands of this Akielan dog.” He motioned negligently towards Damen, who still looked like he was thinking of something else. Fine time for that. “Spare the barbarian for his brother. He doesn’t need to be unharmed, though. Just alive.”

“Good luck with that,” Laurent muttered under his breath.

“As for my _nephew_ ,” the Regent said, instilling the word with a tone that Laurent had heard before, “I had wanted you kept alive,” the Regent said. “An example. And due to family feeling.” 

Laurent stifled a laugh.

“However, I find myself grown weary of dealing with you, and I no longer need an example, I don’t think.” He brushed a speck of invisible dirt of his immaculate cuffs. “For anything.” Laurent thought of an earring, sparkling in the ear of Nicaise. No, his uncle probably did not. A memory came, quickly quashed, those immaculate shirt cuffs, hands on Laurent’s head, forcing him--

“Kill him,” his uncle said. With the tone one would use for an insect. The entire courtyard was silent, everyone hanging on his word. He eventually looked up. “Immediately.”

There was a brief moment when nothing happened, then the guard - men Laurent was sure were personally loyal to his uncle - drew their swords. “Up against the wall,” the captain said.

Laurent noticed movement on nearby rooftops. People were starting to gather to witness the spectacle. Or for other reasons. Damen seemed to be coming back to reality from his daydreaming about nubile maidens or epic sword battles, or what the fuck ever he was thinking about. He took in the courtyard, the people. Laurent.

The guard eyed them warily and began to approach. Swords were placed at each of their necks and they were walked towards the nearby wall. As they walked, Damen shifted position so he could speak against the skin of Laurent’s ear: “You said once that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. You were right. You made me think. About a lot of things. And see things that I wouldn’t have seen before.” Laurent felt him swallow, like he was afraid of what he was about to say. “I’m sorry,” Damen whispered, then straightened up, tall and proud despite the bruises and mud and chains, turning to address the courtyard.

“The wind was in the east that day,” Damen said, clear and sharp as mountain water, so everyone gathered could hear, even those who were appearing in greater numbers on the roofs of the buildings ringing the courtyard. “At Marlas. Was it not?” 

Laurent’s gaze whipped to Damen.

The Regent’s jaw tightened minutely, then relaxed. He waved a seemingly-negligent hand. “Enough sport. He’s babbling now. I changed my mind. Kill them both.”

“I know it, because.” Damen took a deep breath. “I was there. I am Damianos of Akielos, and I was there.”

There was a rising murmur around them.

Laurent felt suddenly breathless, like all the air was being sucked out of his lungs. He didn’t know why.

Damen’s voice came relentless, commanding. “The wind was in the east.” He took a step toward the Regent, ignoring the sword at his throat and the archers across the courtyard. “And yet the arrow that killed your brother came from the opposite direction.”

“Enough!” The Regent motioned to the guards, who forced them back against the wall.

There was a susurrus of sound, like the air sucked from Laurent’s lungs was being forced into his ears. Like the sound of the wind the day of the battle at Marlas, the sound of an arrow to a King’s heart.

The truth met him like a gasp for air, hard into his stomach, but it shoved out the fog that had seemed to have laid over his brain. He almost laughed at himself, so blind. His mind, which was his best asset, which he’d trained to be always three steps ahead of everyone, had failed him utterly. A wave of self-loathing staggered him; his knees almost gave out, like they hadn’t through all the physical mistreatment, or his past with Uncle.

Damen - Damianos - steadied him with a hand on his bicep. _Strength_ , it seemed to convey. Urgency, as well; the archers had raised their bows. Laurent flashed on a picture in his mind of Damianos as he had been when he’d first been brought before him; he had held himself tall and proud and upright despite everything.

Laurent straightened his spine. He held up a hand and imbued it with all the confidence he could. “Stay a moment,” he commanded the archers, not letting himself look: assuming obedience by every nuance of his voice and body and hoping it would buy a second or two.

“You killed my father,” he said to his Uncle. “Your brother. The rightful King. You killed him by arrow, the only way my father could have been killed at that time and place, by treachery. He was too far from the lines for any Akielan arrow to reach him.” He let himself shake his head. “You were right all along; I was as stupid and blind as you always said I was.”

The entire crowd was silent. The archers still had their bows trained on Laurent and Damen, but the Councillors’ brows were furrowing in thought, and they were whispering to each other.

“Kill them,” the Regent said.

The members of the guard shifted uneasily in place.

“Stay a moment,” one of the Councillors said, holding up a hand. The archers looked between him and the Regent and the people now lining the roofs around the courtyard.

Laurent tossed his hair, unbound now and fluttering slightly in the wind - a yellow banner of royal blood. “Wait if you hold the truth dear,” Laurent’s voice rang out, all eyes on him. “Wait if you do not wish to take the wrong side in a battle for which there never should have been sides. Wait if you honor my father, wrongly killed before his time. And my brother, my better by far, also killed before his time due to the machinations of my uncle.”

Damen stifled a gasp. Laurent couldn’t look. “Yes, his talons reached even into Akielos, as they do today. Set our kingdoms at war. And worse.”

A murmur of sound as people took this in, then another sound, waited-for, under that. Arrows, and not aimed at them. Aimed at everyone who still had their bows pointed at Damen and Laurent. Quiet, deadly. There were knives, too, flashing sharp. Silently, then not silently, men fell. Laurent saw his uncle out of the corner of his eye, being hurried to safety. He yearned to follow, wreak his revenge. He knew it was not the time.

“Quickly, before they rally,” Laurent said, once their bonds had been severed. Someone dressed all in greens and browns handed him the reins to a beautiful steed and he mounted quickly, motioning for Damen to mount behind. He did, and they were off. The archers and knife-wielders faded away, retreating back to join riders on the backs of mounts. Within minutes they were galloping up into the hills around them, each horse following the other perfectly, riders all clad in the colors of the forest.


	3. Chapter 3

Damen clung on behind him as their horse ascended the increasingly-steep path. Laurent could feel him stiffening as the land fell away beside the trail. “The horse knows the way,” Laurent said.

“So you say,” Damen said, but his grasp on Laurent relaxed a fraction. “Vaskians, then,” he said after some time.

“Yes.” Laurent gave out a little more leeway on the reins. They were at a very delicate stage, now picking their way over a mountain pass. Despite the season, there were patches of snow and ice on the ground. A stiff wind bit at them.

“You are cold,” Damen said, and pulled the edges of his cloak around Laurent.

“You are, too,” Laurent said. He felt Damen nod.

They rode on in silence for a very long time. “While I appreciate your, shall we say, proportions,” Laurent eventually said, “I think that is not all natural, whatever is jabbing me in the hip.”

There was silence while Damen dug around in his clothing. He felt Damen’s exhale of almost-laughter against his back. “The window bars,” Damen said, then threw them off the edge of the trail.

“This time you used a more indirect approach,” Laurent said.

“I listen,” Damen said. “Laurent,” he began. There were things in his voice that Laurent did not want to deal with now. Or perhaps ever.

“No,” Laurent said.

Damen stiffened again behind him, but he did not try again.

After that they did not speak, with the wind and ice and the rough jolting as the horse picked its way after the others.

This time, when they got to the encampment in the mountains, there were no coupling fires, dances or song. The Vask clan leader was not lounging on a dais overlooking her people; she was riding at the head of the line of horses, dressed in leathers and covered in mud like the rest of them. She dismounted and stood tall and strong despite the blood seeping through her sleeve where one of the Regent’s men had slashed at her. It had been the last thing he did on earth, Laurent knew.

Women came out of the shadows and out of low-slung traveling tents to take the horses. They handed the riders clean, dry clothing and steaming pots of what smelled like stew and the wine-infused cacao drink the Vaskians had perfected. There were small lanterns around pools from which steam rose like fog into the chill air. The bulk of the riders were ushered to an area just downstream, but Laurent and Damen had their own semi-enclosed place where the water was warmest and freshest.

Women helped them strip off their outer garments and then withdrew. Laurent was far past caring about anything but soaking himself clean and warm. Damen was a silent presence, simply handing him the warm cloak and footwear provided for them. They went as one to the tent they were ushered to; it was a bit larger than the rest, and a small lantern warmed it from the inside. They ate the stew and drank herbed wine as if they hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for days. 

Other than necessary conversation, they still hadn’t spoken a word. And of the things that had been revealed today, nothing had been said.

“Well,” Laurent said. “They have placed us together. Perhaps you wish to make use of that other weapon - your natural one, not the window bars - that continued to jab me on the entire ride here?”

Damen looked up at him sharply through his dark eyelashes. “Laurent--”

“This is the thousandth time I have told you, I do not wish to speak of any of it. Of anything at all, in fact.” Laurent’s voice sounded perfectly cool and level to his own ears.

Damen looked troubled. “We have to talk at some point.”

“Do we?” Laurent said, dropping the robe and draping himself on the bedding laid out on the bottom floor of the tent.

Damen remained standing for a moment, brow gathering in some emotion Laurent did not wish to parse. He could almost see Damen thinking. Being ridiculously honorable. Still, his gaze caught on the shape of Laurent’s thighs, arms. “If you don’t want it, I can probably find someone who does,” Laurent said, knowing even as he said it that he was wounding on purpose. Why, he didn’t let himself think about.

Damen wasn’t stupid. He considered, jaw muscle jumping. His eyes were nevertheless hot on Laurent. Laurent arched his back a little, spread his legs a bit more.

Damen came to him, of course, though his eyes looked troubled. He knelt over him and placing a careful hand on Laurent’s hip.

Laurent didn’t want careful. He wanted--He didn’t know what he wanted. “Perhaps it is time for me to take you,” Laurent said, wondering at himself. “You spread out underneath me. Now there’s a pretty thought.” He didn’t know where the words came from. The idea grew in his mind as he said them, though: Damen, taken by him. All that power and strength, subject to him. All his own conflicting feelings, harnessed into something concrete.

“You’re not in a good frame of mind for this,” Damen said quietly. A line creased his forehead.

“You mean, you won’t let anyone fuck you, least of all me.”

Damen shook his head. “I. I would. You can. If that’s what will--If that’s what you want.”

He lay down next to Laurent and Laurent straddled him. He couldn’t quite look at his face, but that was fine. This was fine. “You would do that? I know in your culture it means something different.”

A slight hesitation, but then Damen nodded. A flush moved up his neck, dark. His gaze was intent on Laurent’s face. “Anything. I told you.”

Laurent had to think for a moment to determine what Damen was talking about. When he realized to what Damen referred, Laurent felt answering heat in his own cheeks. “My slave?” he said, keeping it as stripped of intonation as he could. He couldn’t be blamed if there was perhaps a slightly hoarse waver on the word slave. “Even now?”

Damen looked away.

“Really?” Laurent said. “I hardly think this is the same haughty warrior who was delivered to my doorstep.”

A muscle in Damen’s cheek moved. “I am not,” Damen said, raising his eyes to Laurent’s. “I don’t swear to like it as much as the other, but I am willing.”

“Don’t you,” Laurent said.

“I have thought about it once or twice,” Damen said, in that way he had of saying true things even when he didn’t really want to reveal them. “And I had wondered if you would like to try it. Or whether you had ever--”

“Perhaps the better question is, have you?”

Damen lowered his eyes, then raised them again. “No.” His flush deepened. “However, I am not untouched there.”

“So, fingers,” Laurent said. Considered. “Maybe something more.” Laurent had to breathe for a moment. He had not really believed that Damen would acquiesce to such a thing. Damen had said there was no shame in it for a man, but words were easy.

“I don’t know what it would be like,” Laurent said, his own offering.

“Don’t you,” Damen said. Then, quieter, “I don’t know what it would be like, either.”

Laurent cocked his head. A flutter of - something - beat in his belly. “But you’ve thought about it,” he said.

The flush flared again. Laurent watched it, then shifted his gaze to Damen’s. A pulse beat double time in Damen’s temple. His eyes were dark. “I think about everything with you.”

“So, yes.” Laurent knelt up. Leaned over and, experimentally, gathered Damen’s wrists in his hand and pushed them to the sheets above Damen’s head. He scrutinized Damen’s face and body for answers. His own, for the same. Interesting. “It will not be ridiculous, like a small hound attempting to mount a horse?” 

“Not small everywhere,” Damen said, cheek twitching a bit like he was holding in a smile.

Laurent rolled his eyes. “Not big, either.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Damen said. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Certainly not regarding yourself.” It slipped out without thought.

A muscle in Damen’s lips jumped.

Laurent reached across the bedding to his satchel, dug out a small bottle of oil. “Prepare yourself,” Laurent said, releasing one of Damen’s hands and shoving the vial into it. Laurent ignored the way his stomach felt queasy, as if this was wrong. It was not wrong. Damen was willing.

Damen’s eyes were dark. His hand shook a little when he took the vial, but he dutifully coated his fingers. Laurent moved to the side and watched as Damen reached down between his legs, shoved a finger, then fingers, inside himself. He no longer was looking at Laurent.

This should be degrading, though hot. Power through sex. But instead, Laurent found himself thinking about how Damen had treated Laurent the night they had fucked, always making sure he not only said he wanted things, but really did.

Almost, he asked Damen to stop. But he thought of what else those hands had done and he didn’t. It made no sense. Laurent had known all along. But there was the old anger again.

“Enough,” Damen said, letting a leg fall open.

Despite the strange feeling in his gut, Laurent was hard. Damen was magnificent, all muscle rippling under olive skin. His cock rose out of his nest of dark hair: hard, olive tinged red. Oil glistened between his legs.

He pushed up on one of Damen’s legs; Damen held it up with his strong thigh muscles. Laurent found the opening, shoved in a little, held there. Even with the anger roiling inside him, he wasn’t going to cause pain. Not the physical kind.

“Do it,” Damen said, still not looking directly at him.

Laurent started to ease in, but Damen used his leg behind Laurent’s back to pull him in harder, faster.

Damen grunted.

Laurent fought against sensation: heat, tightness, pleasure along his cock. The pleasure warred with the ache in his chest.

Damen’s hands were clenched into fists in the blankets now. He looked like he was straining to stay still, let Laurent control this. Even so, his hips were beginning to stutter up: once, twice, then a full stop, hands fisting harder. Damen’s eyes were closed, face screwed up in concentration or--

“Am I hurting you,” Laurent asked, despite himself.

Damen’s eyes opened. Looked at Laurent for the first time in a long while. The lantern made his face younger. Long, dark lashes framed his expressive eyes. Almost, Laurent could think this was some youth he tumbled. Like things could have been, had everything been different, had he and Damen met when younger, before everything changed.

“No. It feels…” Damen swallowed, eyes fixed on Laurent’s hair swinging free in the lantern-light; it had always drawn Damen’s attention. He seemed to relax a bit. He pulled his other leg up behind Laurent and tipped up.

Laurent slid in deeper. He sucked in air against a gasp and Damen made a sound halfway between pleasure and discomfort. It pushed a spark up Laurent’s spine and suddenly this was something different, something new. Despite that, Laurent waited. “I do not wish to hurt you,” he said. His voice did not sound cool or distant now. His anger was still there, though. Good.

“Don’t you,” Damen said, but he rocked up into Laurent’s cock, made a noise that sounded like pleasure.

Everything was jumbled inside Laurent, but the physical demands of his body drowned out everything else, including the voice telling him he should not act in anger. He knew he should not act in anger, and yet. Here he was. Surrounded by tight heat. Inversion of all he’d known. Coiled strength underneath him, surrendering to him.

“Come on,” Damen said, pulling Laurent into him with his knees on his back and his hands, now on Laurent’s hips.

Laurent stopped thinking and thrust, at first still careful. Fairly careful. Then not careful at all, as sparks flew down his spine, heat surrounded and engulfed him, almost to the point of pain.

Damen’s skin shone with sweat. His head was thrown back, bare line of his throat raised. Laurent felt a sudden, sharp urge to lick it. He resisted. Instead, he fucked into Damen harder, slid his hands under him and pulled him up so he had a better angle. He saw Damen’s eyes catch on the muscles in his arms; that was one thing he’d noticed almost immediately, that Damen preferred men who looked like men, not boys, albeit lithe and shapely.

Laurent thought of what he knew about this and changed his angle slightly. Damen groaned and arched up, rolling into it. “There,” Laurent said, like it was a weapon.

“Yes,” Damen said, like he felt it for what it was. Regardless, his hands tightened on Laurent’s hips and he started moving rhythmically, arching up and forwards into Laurent’s thrusts. “Gods,” he said, groaning. His hands were going to leave bruises. The thought made Laurent shudder. Damen looked at him, at that; his eyes were dark and traced up and down Laurent’s body. “This is--” he said. Stopped himself.

By great force of will, Laurent remained quiet, but he was starting to lose rhythm; his body was taking over and his thrusts were erratic, driving. It was getting physically difficult to stay in this position; his arms and shoulders ached. His thighs ached.

Damen’s arms drew Laurent down to him and he curled up to meet him. Laurent dropped his head, panting. Rested his forehead on Damen’s shoulder. Damen’s hands traced up Laurent’s back, down over his buttocks. Lingered. Laurent could feel the callouses from his sword-work. Roughness from labor and fighting. He wanted those hands all over his body. Everywhere.

His mouth was on Damen’s chest. His lips were almost-pressed to the damp skin. He tried to focus on the anger, but its flame was being consumed in another, stronger flame. Damen’s hand came up, traced up Laurent’s back, his ribs, his neck. Found his cheek. Cradled it.

Laurent froze.

Damen kept his hand very still. He didn’t try to move it.

Laurent considered shaking it off. Didn’t. His strokes had slowed. He pulled up on Damen’s hips, found a new angle. Slowed more. His thighs and arms were burning.

“This might work better from behind,” Damen said quietly, stroking his free hand over Laurent’s shoulder, down his aching arm.

Laurent shuddered. Considered. That should have been how this was. Impersonal. Angry. But it wasn’t. No matter what he did, it wasn’t.

Damen waited patiently. In that way he had, when Laurent needed it. Not that he wasn’t sometimes hotheaded, a fighter, stubborn. Standing up to him when no one else would.

Oh gods, he was insufferable even to himself, in the silence of his mind. Next he’d be composing sonnets. He sighed, a small sound, but it made Damen freeze in place again. “No, like this,” Laurent said, stroking in; this time it was a pebble in a pool, ripples from a tight center.

Damen felt it too, made a sound Laurent hadn’t heard yet tonight. Or at all. Arching up, chasing more.

Laurent gave it to him. More, and more, their bodies growing slick. Laurent not even trying to fight what he wanted any more, letting his lips touch Damen’s strong chest.

Damen’s hand on Laurent’s cheek moved, pulled. Damen’s eyes darted to Laurent’s mouth, then his eyes, asked a question. Laurent leaned down and answered it with his lips on Damen’s, gentle at first, then harder.

It was searing, their mouths joined, Damen’s tongue pressing into Laurent’s mouth. He felt Damen’s free hand rise to his hair, clutch at strands of it. Before the thought could even form about what he desired, he had it; Damen pulled gently, then with greater strength, when Laurent groaned and fucked into him harder still.

“Oh,” Damen said, then grunted when Laurent moved in a certain way. “Again,” he ordered, hoarse. “Again. More.”

Laurent’s heart soared. He felt triumphant. This was good. Not bad.

Damen flashed something close to a grin, then gritted his teeth and moaned.

Heat raced up Laurent’s spine, turned his thighs liquid. Damen reached up and tweaked at his nipples and Laurent bucked hard; it was agonizingly pleasurable. He sat up again, ran his hands over Damen’s flesh, all spread out before him like some pagan offering.

He was fucking him. Fucking a man. Not a slave: someone who chose it. Almost he felt like laughing. A weight lifted off him. Joy, unexpectedly. He gave himself over to it, became sensation and heat, growing urgency. Damen was making sounds now continually. Laurent found himself sighing. Loudly. More like moaning. He pumped into the tight heat. Damen’s strength and stubbornness was all surrendered to him. He lost awareness of everything except that the ache in his belly, building, building. “I’m going to--” he groaned, but Damen curled his legs behind him and pulled him in tighter, harder, urging him on, head thrown back.

Laurent came, gasping, fighting to stay seated in Damen. Damen watched him, eyes dark, arms around Laurent’s back, pulling him in tighter, tighter. Laurent half collapsed, shaky arms holding him up, hair sweeping Damen’s chest. Damen shifted, restless. Aftershocks ran through Laurent; Damen moaned as Laurent still moved inside him. “So close,” Damen said, breathless.

Laurent remembered something. Eased up to create space for it. “Touch yourself. RIght now. No,” he said when Damen went to grasp himself tightly. “Just the barest pressure. Slide it slowly. Slower.”

Damen looked up at him, pupils blown, touching himself exactly as Laurent requested. “Oh gods,” Damen said, groaning.

“No. Wait,” Laurent said. “Wait for it. Slower. Less pressure, even less.”

“I can’t,” Damen said.

“You can,” Laurent said.

He could. He did, sliding his hand so slowly, hardly touching himself. His eyes were desperate, hot.

Laurent shivered.

“I’m still inside you,” Laurent said, and felt Damen’s whole body shudder. “Now,” he said, and Damen’s eyes went wide, his thighs clasping Laurent so hard he had to gasp for air. Damen’s head arched back and he bucked, wild-eyed, spurted all over his belly, chest, Laurent.

Laurent half-collapsed, aching everywhere. Softened, slid out.

Damen winced, but then his face relaxed. He caught and held Laurent’s eyes.

Part of Laurent wanted to get up, leave.

RIght.

Damen pulled him down, wrapping his arms around him. In that way that still left Laurent room to get out of the embrace, but surrounded him with warmth. He struggled with himself for a moment. Gave up. Let his body relax on Damen’s. Let his hands go where they willed. Which apparently was, respectively, Damen’s hair and his hand. Ridiculous. He stayed, though.

He stayed.


	4. Chapter 4

Before the first rays of dawn laid faint stripes of pellucid light across the ground, they were saddling up, this time on separate mounts.

Nothing had been said, but Damen’s horse was outfitted, like Laurent’s, in a manner befitting royalty. To the Vaskians, this meant dark ribbons braided in the horses’ manes and tails, and intricately worked leather saddles and bridles. The Vaskians had also supplied them with fresh clothing and cloaks of royal calibre, along with weapons. Damen’s hair flowed in the breeze and the dark clothing accentuated his musculature. His beauty.

Laurent turned his thoughts to tactics. After… everything else, he and Damen had discussed it late into the night. This time, there would be no subterfuge. Only blunt force, applied directly. Going through the window instead of talking one’s way out the door. So long as Laurent’s allies all stayed true, they had a chance.

It was two days to Charcy even at a forced march. Damen ordered the march slowed from that pace, not wanting the troops to arrive exhausted.

Laurent felt brittle, looking at Damen. They were given a tent together again, but this night, Laurent lay alone, motioning Damen off with a hand. He could feel Damen’s eyes on him in the dark, but Laurent stayed silent. The night before had shaken something loose inside him, something bitter and cold. It was adrift, wandering over his heart and his mind. He wanted to reach for Damen, yet did not want it.

He hated how Damen understood this about him, even without understanding. Hated, but appreciated. “Sleep,” Damen finally said in the wee hours, across the few feet of space between them.

Laurent must have made a disdainful sound, because Damen said, “or we can plan more.”

Laurent made another sound.

Damen sighed. “You are so much trouble.” His voice said the opposite. “Shall I tell you a story, like young children want at night?”

Laurent had to fight a smile. Embarrassing. “Yes, that.”

There was silence.

“Well?” Laurent said.

“So impatient.” Damen sat up, a solid presence in the dark. Outside, it was silent except for the night-calls of the sentries; Vaskians could mimic the sounds of all the animals, and had an extensive language of calls. “Once upon a time, there was a prince,” he began.

“No, never mind.” Laurent sat up also.

There was silence. Then, “I hit you. At Ravenel.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow at the sharp turn in Damen’s topic, but remained silent. He had not thought about that blow since. It reminded him how little he really understood Damen.

“I will not raise a hand against you again,” Damen said.

Laurent’s eyebrow went higher. “You know very well that I provoked you, purposely. Very purposely. That I needed to be stopped.”

“Still,” Damen said. “It’s wrong, between--It was between _us_ , not as enemy to enemy or man to man. I don’t hit bed-partners. Ever.”

“Bed-partners.” Laurent tilted his head fractionally. “Is that what we are?”

“I.” It seemed Damen couldn’t get anything more out.

“Never mind,” Laurent said.

“You have no reason to believe this, but it will not happen again, if--”

“Ah, but you are wrong,” Laurent said.

“Wrong,” Damen said.

“I do have reason to believe a thing you say, when you say it like this.”

“I have lied to you,” Damen said, and there it was, finally, out in words between them.

“If failure to say an important thing is lying - and yes, it is - then I have done so with you as well.”

“Yes, but,” Damen said. “Not about something that-”

Laurent could hear his breathing in the dark.

“Something that mattered so much.”

“I knew from the first, of course,” Laurent said. “I’m frankly insulted you would think otherwise.”

“Don’t make light like that!” Damen was inching closer now. “He. I think he must have been a very good man.”

“He was.” Laurent sighed. The bitter thing inside was in his throat. “I think I can sleep now.” He wrapped the blankets around himself and curled onto the pallet, turned away from Damen. If his chest ached and he had to swallow hard in the dark, he would not admit it, even to himself. He would not think of Damen’s eyes on him, the weight of their sorrow.

~

They separated leagues away from their goal, taking the hidden paths the Vask knew of in the hills. Scouts reported in; the way was clear. Or at least made to look that way. Laurent knew his uncle. Nothing would be as it looked.

The battlements of Charcy were lined with archers, but the Regent rode out to meet them with his armies. They formed a solid mass almost as far as the eye could see.

Damen was a solid, silent presence next to and slightly behind Laurent. Their smaller army was arrayed around them.

The two forces met in the middle of Charcy Field. His uncle was wearing purple.

“I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” his uncle said.

“Hoped,” Laurent said.

“I grow weary of your continued rebellion,” uncle said.

“As I grow weary of your continued existence,” Laurent said.

Damen made one of those sounds like a smothered laugh. Highly inappropriate in this context. It lifted Laurent’s heart.

“I’m afraid you are not as clever as you think,” Uncle said. He raised a finger negligently. Laurent didn’t need to look to know that behind their army, other forces were being arrayed, filtering into position from their hiding places.

“Oh, no, a trap,” Laurent said.

Damen covered his face with his hand.

They waited for a few moments. Laurent inspected his sleeve-ties. 

A murmur arose from the troops on the farthest edges of the Regent’s entrapping force. Then a cry filled the air, a ululating song that lifted the hair on the back of Laurent’s neck and made his mouth quirk for an uncontrolled moment. There were the Vask, and the Patrians. The Akielans. Thousands of them, filing in behind the Regent’s forces.

“So,” Laurent said. “Unless you have another army waiting to emerge behind my reinforcements…?” He waited, eyebrow lifted. “No, then? I think not. In that case, let us,” he made his voice as sweet as honeyed poison, “talk.”

“You poisonous snake,” Uncle said. “My troops will destroy yours, and all your motley collection of bedfellows.”

“Stop, Uncle,” Laurent said. “You see the situation. You know your guilt. But even now you can escape death. The royal blood flowing in your veins argues for clemency. My royal father’s blood in your veins. Cease your treason and order your troops to stand down. How many must die for your ambition? Is it not enough that you killed my father and my brother?”

“I think your pretty little ass is deceiving you, nephew,” the Regent said. “Because the person who is fucking you into being an Akielan foot mat is the person who killed your brother. As to your father--”

“You don’t deserve to say their names. You don’t deserve to be the dirt beneath their feet,” Laurent said.

“Brave words now,” Uncle said. “But then you always were mouthy. Speaking of which, you were gagging for it from almost the time you were born.”

Laurent felt his face drain of color. Saw Damen focus in hard, the way he did sometimes, looking first at Laurent, then at the Regent. Saw Damen’s eyes narrow and head tip slightly to the side like he did when he was listening hardest. Thinking hardest.

Laurent felt the bitter thing that had been in his throat grow bigger, bigger, until he was choking with it. Unable to speak, as he’d been so many times in the past. He saw dawning realization in Damen’s face, felt the shame rocket through his own body. The bitter thing, though, was still crawling its way up his throat. 

Damen’s eyes were wide. His face had drained of all remaining color and his hand was white around his sword-grip. He smote his forehead with his free hand, clearly angry with--with _himself _. Angry with himself for--__

__“I am a blind idiot,” Damen said. “I knew there was something, but never thought--Forgive me,” he said to Laurent, with a look of such mingled guilt and compassion it momentarily stunned Laurent. There was no censure, no thought that Laurent had somehow deserved it; it was all straightforward condemnation of an adult who had done such a thing, and nothing else._ _

__Laurent was so used to hiding, to the bitter taste of life, it was difficult to act under different assumptions. But he did it. Took a breath, then another, keeping his eyes on Damen. Said, loudly and clearly to his uncle, “You should know.” In case anyone missed the point, he added, “About me gagging on it, that is. Since it was you who shoved it in when I wasn’t old enough to--”_ _

__“Silence!” Uncle ordered, and raised his hand to signal for the trumpeters to sound the signal for the charge._ _

__Before he could do so, Laurent raised his voice. “Hear me now, people of Vere!” he cried, into the silence. “I am the true King. The Regent wrongly usurped our rights and has failed to protect our royal person. He has lied and colluded and suborned and turned my Councillors against me. Worse, he killed my royal father through treachery, an arrow in the throat, and colluded with traitors in Akielos to maneuver the Prince to fight my brother.” He did not look at Damen as he said it._ _

__He raised his voice even louder, made his words ring with their truth. “Serve me now and everything past will be forgiven. Come to me. Join your true King. Right here, right now.”_ _

__He threw out a hand signal: “Spread the word.” He waited, emanating confidence his orders would be followed. They were: his words were repeated back in the lines._ _

__He swallowed. “Uncle, I say this in front of these witnesses: this offer is available to you as well. In deference to the blood that runs in your veins, exile, rather than death, is offered, for the next few seconds. This is your last warning; heed it well. I am not, by nature, forgiving.”_ _

__He dared another glance at Damen. He was staring at Laurent, all his feelings showing on his face. It bathed Laurent in approval, recognition for who he was. Hope. Damen’s eyes were--_ _

__Laurent had to look away again._ _

__A murmur of sounds was racing through the assembled men. Word being passed back and back to the ranks on both sides. The newly-appointed Councillors who had accompanied the Regent were whispering together. Laurent felt more exposed than he ever had in his life._ _

__Yet. Yet, true to himself. It was liberating._ _

__There was a palpable uncertainty hanging over the field. Things could go either way in a heartbeat. “Five, four, three...” Laurent said, making himself linger over each number._ _

__“Two,” Damen said in a voice that carried on its own to the further troops. He raised his sword. A sound from the rear like wind on the plain was the Akielans raising their swords in time with their Prince._ _

__Laurent locked eyes with him and raised his own sword. “One,” he said. “For our fathers, too early taken by craven traitors,” he said to Damen, eyes only for him._ _

__Damen inclined his head briefly, then saluted Laurent with his sword. “And to your brother,” Damen said. “Worth more than any of us here today.”_ _

__“And the brother you never really had,” Laurent said softly. Damen’s mouth pressed into a tight line and acknowledged it with a tiny nod._ _

__Something drew his attention back to the field. A sound. Men, pushing their way forward._ _

__To him._ _

__Most were still standing, but there were ripples the throng. The fact his uncle denied nothing was in the whispers. The fact Laurent and Damen were as one in this. Knees began hitting the ground, at first in small groups, then in larger. A wave of surrender happened all around the Regent, men striding towards Laurent’s position. Men kneeling. The two new Councillors were on their knees: that was the important part, the thing he’d waited for._ _

__“Zero,” Laurent said._ _

__More knees hit the mud: more men strode towards him. Others did not._ _

__“I do not,” Laurent said carefully into absolute silence, “wish vengeance. On anyone. I do not wish anyone’s death today. There has been enough death.” He looked at Damen when he said it, meaning it. Damen’s eyes were on him. Proud. It was true, suddenly. He remembered his Uncle from better times, times before. A toy one fest-day. A practice sword. He approached him. “Uncle, you may choose, within reason, your destination.”_ _

__A muscle moved in his Uncle’s jaw. Laurent fought his instinctive reaction. Perhaps, even now, his Uncle would acknowledge the wrong he had done. Wrongs._ _

__“I should have done this a long time ago,” his Uncle said, coming toward him with arms outstretched._ _

__The part of Laurent who was still that young boy he had once been almost, almost, went into those arms. He shook his head. “You have taught me too well, Uncle,” he said, motioning to the men around them to seize him._ _

__His uncle, now within one body’s distance, lunged, something metal and sharp in his hand aimed at Laurent’s abdomen. Not even a quick death, then._ _

__Laurent, prepared, jumped back, raising his sword, but before he could swing, Damen was there, running Laurent’s uncle through with a mighty thrust. Not content, he heaved it back out, said, “for Nicaise,” and with a blow that would fell an ox, sliced off his head. “And for all of them,” Damen added softly._ _

__The feelings Laurent had been carefully tamping down rose in a cloud, swirling. “You dare mete out my justice,” he said, advancing on Damen, eyes darting to his Uncle’s still-trembling body._ _

__Damen’s eyes cut to the raised sword in Laurent’s hand. Damen carefully, slowly, lowered his own weapon. “I won’t put it down entirely,” he said, “because things are still not settled here on this field. It may be needed yet. But I won’t raise it against you.” He straightened. “And yes, I dare. Because alive, he would be poison. For Vere. For you. Better it’s over cleanly.”_ _

__Laurent took two shuddering breaths. Remembered he was not going to act from anger. Damen’s lowered sword and bared chest made that easier._ _

__He remembered the armies. He turned and surveyed the field._ _

__A sea of kneeling men._ _

__His Uncle’s dead body._ _

__The Councillors. Even from here, he could see that one of them was trembling. Good. “Take them away,” he said, waving a hand in their direction. “We will discuss matters with them later.” He turned back to the throngs. “As to all of you, swear your loyalty to the rightful ruler. To the laws of our realm. To Vere. To right prevailing. If you so swear, say it now.”_ _

__They did, with a roar that echoed and circled and found its place in Laurent’s chest._ _


	5. Chapter 5

It was hours until they could rest. They’d ridden into the castle, and there had been both practical and ceremonial things to attend to. Rooms had to be prepared. Food and drink and baths provided for everyone.

“Tomorrow, we ride,” Laurent announced, once things had been attended to. He added privately, “I need to be alone.” Damen looked at him assessingly, then nodded. Servants brought hot water and warm food, then quietly withdrew from the rooms they’d put him in.

Laurent washed off mud and sweat and blood with the bath water. No tears, because that would be worse than pathetic, to mourn the death of someone who had done what he had done, was what he was. Laurent had not cried since he was six years younger, and likely never would again.

The water didn’t wash away the anger completely. Anger at Damen for stealing his opportunity to deal with his uncle himself. Anger at his father and even his brother, as ridiculous as that was, for leaving him to deal with his uncle alone. Most of all, anger at himself, for allowing himself to be manipulated and used like that. All those years.

A memory rose unbidden. Auguste, teaching Laurent about statesmanship. He’d been telling him about some of the cruel lords who reigned in other parts of the world. Laurent had expressed amazement. “How do those lords stay in power?” he’d asked. “Why don’t the people rise?”

Auguste had smiled. “Think of it like this,” he’d said. “The cruel kings who stay in power longest are those who most successfully persuade the people to blame their problems on others. On anyone but them.” He’d clapped Laurent on the shoulder. “But that is not how we do things here.”

Laurent had smiled up at him. “And how do we do things here, brother?”

Auguste’s smile grew and his eyes sparkled. “We do things here by…” he took off, sprinting toward the river, “jumping into the river!” Laurent raced to follow, laughing, wind in his hair. His little legs ran as fast as they could, but of course it wasn’t fast enough to catch Auguste. No one was fast enough to catch Auguste. Of course, Auguste being Auguste, he waited for Laurent, then grabbed his hand so they could jump in together, whooping as they did.

Laurent smiled to himself. His eyes were a little misty after all. But not for his uncle. Auguste had been right, all those years ago. Laurent’s anger should be for his uncle and no one else.

He should be feeling triumph. Elation. Freedom. Certainly, there was a long road ahead, subduing any remaining pockets of rebellion, solidifying his reign, trying to improve the lot of people in Vere. But still, tonight should be for relief and celebration. Instead, he felt--He didn’t know what.

It was hard to conceive of a world in which he didn’t have to hide himself from his uncle, in one way or another. He was so used to hiding. He had learned at an early age to hide even from himself. It was safer. Anger was a tool in that, as was staying aloof.

There came a point, though, where it was just cowardice.

If there was one thing he was quite sure of it was this: Laurent of Vere was not a coward. He winced at the metaphor, but. But maybe it was time to jump into the river. It had been freezing that day, the clear snow-melt of Spring. He had turned bluish white with cold, but he was determined to stay in. He and Auguste had splashed and swam a very long time. It had been… fun.

He knew what Auguste would want for him, one way or another.

He did not bother to get fully dressed again and wore only his underthings. He gathered up a few items and went toward the door. At the last moment, he had a thought. Turned back and got something out of his personal satchel, then wrapped it up in his cloak.

“I’ll be next door,” he said to the poker-faced guards, noticing even as he did that these were all men who he knew were personally loyal to him. Damen’s work, he was sure.

Speaking of Damen, here was the door to his suite, right next to Laurents’. The door was slightly ajar. A single candle glowed within. Laurent took a deep breath. “May I enter?”

Silence for a moment that hung, catching Laurent’s heart.

“Always,” Damen said, opening the door. His eyes widened when he saw how Laurent was attired. Candlelight illuminated a small swathe of his face and neck. “Did you come to kill me?”

Just like that, a final thing shifted inside Laurent. He laughed.

Damen raised an eyebrow. Clearly, he knew not to even attempt to guess what would happen when Laurent entered his presence. Also clearly, he liked that. “I thought--” Laurent halted, unsure of what to say.

Damen swept his hand to motion Laurent inside. “Come in. You must be weary.”

A muscle moved in Laurent’s face. “I am not some horse you need to approach with soft words and sugar cubes.”

Now it was Damen’s turn to laugh. “I would never mistake you for an unbroken colt. A colt is far less difficult.”

The tugging on his mouth, Laurent realized, was a smile. He walked into the room. Stood there. It was only awkward if he allowed it to be, he knew, yet it was still difficult. Best to go straight at it. He reached into his bundle, pulled the thing out that he had brought, held it up. “I thought,” he said. His ears burned. His heartbeat was loud in his ears. “I thought perhaps you would like to put it on me.” He looked everywhere but at Damen.

Damen breathed out hard, a gasp.

“Is that no?” Laurent asked, with the burning not only on his ears, but down his cheeks as well. He remembered that until today, Damen hadn’t known about-- “I understand.”

“You understand nothing,” Damen said, taking a step forward toward Laurent. He reached out and ran his hand over the wrist-cuff. It matched the one he wore always on his own arm. It glinted in the candlelight. His hand perhaps shook slightly.

Laurent felt breathless.

“Give me your arm,” Damen said, low.

Laurent put out his arm and Damen took his hand

Damen bent and kissed it; it both mirrored and did not mirror the kiss of a noble for his liege.

Laurent’s heart beat faster. The candlelight made it seem like only they existed in the world; everything outside its small arc of gold was dark. Like Damen’s eyes on him.

Damen slid the cuff up his arm until it found purchase; though muscled, Laurent’s arm was far more slender than Damen’s. Damen leaned down and followed it up with his mouth, leaving a burning trail up Laurent’s wrist, the crook of his elbow, his bicep.

Laurent watched Damen’s dark head progress upwards. He was shivering now, sensations from Damen’s mouth meeting the sensations set off by his thoughts, the illicit use of the cuff, the reversal upon reversal of their roles, the feeling in his chest when he looked at Damen. Overwhelming.

Perhaps Damen felt something like it as well, as he stopped when the cuff was fully seated on Laurent’s upper arm, just leaning over him, mouth pressed to the soft skin there.

Laurent didn’t know what to do with the feelings. There was probably something one was supposed to do. Well, they’d been making this thing up as they went anyway, he supposed. He lifted a hand, placed it on Damen’s head.

Damen breathed out. Laurent felt it on his arm.

“I am not exactly aware of what is expected,” Laurent said. It was still difficult to say things like that.

Damen laughed, a sharp exhalation against Laurent’s arm, then straightened up. He placed both large hands on either side of Laurent’s face, stroking. He was smiling, then not, then smiling. “I am fairly certain there is not precedent for,” Damen gestured between them, “whatever this is.”

“Well,” Laurent said,“there certainly is precedent for you fucking me.” He watched Damen’s eyes, enjoying how they turned darker at his very words. “And I think we should do that right now.”

“Do you?” Damen said, pressing Laurent back against the still-open door. His lips twitched. “Do you think the guards should hear the details, or do you just enjoy torturing them?”

“Oops,” Laurent said.

“You are incorrigible,” Damen said, moving even closer, until there was no space between them.

“Mmm, yet somehow that is not decreasing your ardor.” Laurent shoved forward with his hips against Damen’s meaningfully.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer it the other way,” Damen asked into Laurent’s mouth, bringing one of Laurent’s hands down to his own backside to make his meaning clear. Or simply to feel Laurent’s hand there. Laurent obliged, stroking the strong muscles.

Laurent hadn’t been sure Damen would acknowledge that had happened. “I am certain,” he said. “And unless you have developed a new preference, I am also certain that is not something we will repeat often. I was--” He swallowed. “I was angry.”

Damen laughed again. “Then let’s do that every time you’re angry, because it was extremely enjoyable. Far better than what your tongue metes out.”

“You have no idea what my tongue can mete out.”

Damen laughed again. “I don’t doubt it.”

Laurent stroked his hand more where it lay, took advantage and curled it forward from behind between Damen’s legs. “Not that it wasn’t… enjoyable on my part as well.”

“Mm, yes, well. I may have developed a wish for an occasional repeat of the experience. That is, if you--”

“I do. However, at this precise moment in time--”

“I’m going to fuck you,” Damen half-growled into Laurent’s ear.

Laurent let his body do what it wanted; he arched into Damen’s heat and strength. Damen shoved back this time. The door closed with a loud bang. Laurent had a passing thought that the guards were probably breathing a sigh of relief, but he didn’t want to think about those games any more.

Even pressed back against the door, he could feel Damen holding back. He didn’t want that. He pulled Damen’s head down. “Come here.” He kissed him, pushing his tongue into his mouth, shoving his hips up and grinding into Damen’s body. Damen was already mostly hard, hips stuttering down into Laurent. “I want everything,” Laurent murmured. “No holding back.”

Damen pulled back and looked at Laurent assessingly.

“I mean it.” Laurent shoved his hips up again.

Damen groaned.

“You are considerate. I wish to see you… unrestrained.”

“I don’t want to...” _scare you_ was in the air. Damen was too intelligent for that and it was left unsaid. “... hurt you,” Damen finished.

Laurent huffed out a frustrated breath. “Tell me. Am I _safe_?”

Damen’s brow furrowed.

“No, truly. Tell me, have you fallen into some type of delusion that I am a safe choice? Careful, harmless?”

Damen’s eyes widened. “Never.”

“And do you believe that I would be interested in someone who was always proper, always _safe_?” Laurent inched his hand downward between their bodies. He let his eyes trace slowly down Damen’s front, to where his hand was working.

Damen shook his head, wordless now.

Laurent’s gaze lingered. “Then why,” Laurent said, practically drawling now, “are you treating me like a child’s doll?” He put his free hand on Damen’s face to forestall the hurt he could envision this speech causing. “There are times that is exactly what is needed, and you have been… superb. But,” he brought one leg up, caressed the back of Damen’s thigh with his foot, moved his hips just so. “But then there are times when I may want something different. Something harder.”

Damen swallowed, but did not move.

Laurent rolled his eyes. “Will you stop if I ask? Will you stop if I so much as breathe out of place?”

Damen was nodding. “Of course.”

“Exactly. Now come here,” Laurent said, reaching through the pants he’d unfastened during this talk and cupping Damen’s length.

Damen groaned. “Fine.”

Laurent smirked. “I thought you’d see it my way.”

“When do you ever not get your way,” Damen said, but he gathered up Laurent’s wrists,  
drew them up above Laurent’s head, and pressed them into the door, transferring them to one hand and holding them there like he meant business. Finally. He kissed Laurent, first gently, then harder as Laurent squirmed.

“Careful,” Damen said into Laurent’s mouth, panting, “Keep this up and you might get fucked against this very door.”

Laurent shuddered, and knew that this time, Damen could feel it.

Damen rutted into him hard, put one of those big hands under Laurent’s hips.

“Yes,” Laurent said.

“Do you have--”

“In your pocket.”

“Minx,” Damen said. “You have another life as a pickpocket available, should the rigors of your new job prove too much.”

“If you can speak a sentence like that, you clearly are not up to the rigors of a simple task like fucking me against this door,” Laurent said, but was interrupted by Damen growling and ripping Laurent’s underdrawers, shoving the remains down and hoisting him up by the hips single handed.

Laurent groaned.

“Hands. Stay up here.” Damen bit Laurent’s ear for emphasis. Let go of his wrists.

Laurent was going to see what would happen if he let them fall, but before he could, Damen’s slicked-up finger was entering him. Oh, gods. Then in rapid succession, before he could say anything, two. Laurent threw his head back, moaned.

Damen’s teeth were at his throat. Not enough to mark, just enough to feel.

“Do it. More,” Laurent gasped.

Damen growled, ran his mouth down to the top of Laurent’s shoulder, sank his teeth in just enough. “Good,” Damen said.

He pushed what had to be three fingers up into Laurent. Still careful not to hurt, but definitely enough to shock. Yes. Yes. Perhaps he’d said that out loud, because Damen said, “yes,” then, “You are so beautiful.”

“Now,” Laurent said.

Damen pulled his fingers out, none too gently. Before Laurent could feel it as a loss, Damen lifted him even higher, lined up blunt head of cock lined up, then began to shove in. It was glorious; Laurent’s back was against the door, his legs wrapped around Damen’s waist. Damen’s huge length impaled him there. Damen paused, panting, giving Laurent time.

But not too much time; it was shocking when he began to move, stroking into Laurent slowly, so slowly. “Take me,” Damen murmured.

Laurent shuddered and did. He leaned forward blindly for Damen’s mouth. As they kissed, Damen reached for Laurent’s hands, drew them down. Laurent’s hands went around Damen, clutching his shoulders. Everything was an open nerve now. Electricity everywhere they touched. Laurent heard a sound, realized it was him, gasping. “Almost. Going to,” he managed.

“Yes. Against the door. With me,” Damen groaned, hips stuttering, hands too tight on Laurent’s hips, cock battering at him. It was impossible to hold back any more; it was everywhere. Laurent felt it building deep inside, moving outward. Then, crashing back through all the spaces it had been. His body convulsed; only Damen’s strength held him up. He moaned and arched, seeking even more.

“Yes,” Damen said, then, “oh gods,” and Damen came inside him; Laurent could feel it, the pulse of seed. Everything was heat and light and all-consuming sensation for a time.

Eventually things faded back in. The door. He’d have bruises. Damen’s hands. Same. Damen.

“Gods,” Damen murmured. Then, “Have I hurt you?” His voice sounded scraped. He pulled back from where his face had been, Laurent’s shoulder.

“Mmm,” Laurent said.

Damen grunted, let his head fall again.

Laurent poked him in the ribs.

“Right,” Damen said, then lifted his head again. Looked Laurent up and down. They were still joined, though Damen was softening, starting to slide out. What Damen saw made his face twitch into a self-satisfied smirk.

“Anyone who looks like that can be the one to get clean cloths. And carry the other to bed.”

Damen laughed. “I don’t think I can ever move again.”

“Well, I’m certainly not walking,” Laurent said.

Damen sighed. “All right, if I must.” He gathered Laurent in his arms and laughed, stumbled over to the bedding, dropping him none too ceremoniously.

“I’ll have you know, I’m a king now.” Laurent smirked up at him. Damen’s skin glowed with sweat. His hair was a mess. He had semen on his belly. Laurent’s semen.

“If you keep looking like that, you’ll just have to be fucked again,” Damen said, reaching for a cloth and water.

“Oh, no,” Laurent said, letting Damen wash him. Long, slow, careful strokes. Damen’s eyes on him. Something in them Laurent hadn’t seen there before. He hoped, nay, he believed, it was happiness. “Come here,” Laurent said. He wanted to kiss him, just kiss, for a long time.

Some time later, Laurent drew back so he could see Damen’s face. Their arms and legs were wrapped around one another. It was ridiculous, yes. And yet, it was what Laurent wanted, so it was what he would do. He swallowed. There was a thing to do. He put his hand on Damen’s cheek.

Damen rubbed against it like a cat. His eyes were clear.

Laurent caught and held his gaze. “Damianos,” Laurent said.

Damen froze.

In Laurent’s mind, the name had tasted like salt, like bitterness. Here, it did not.

“No,” Damen whispered. “No.” Damen put a hand behind Laurent’s head and brought their foreheads together. “Don’t--You don’t need to call me that. Here, between us like this, I am Damen.”

Laurent’s chest ached and he found himself unable to speak. He brought his hand to Damen’s hair and caressed it, nodding in acknowledgement. They were quiet like that for a time, forehead against forehead. Laurent had never felt like this. He hoped Damen knew that. He wanted him to know that. “Damen,” Laurent began. Had to stop.

“Shh,” Damen said. “I know. I know.” He kissed Laurent’s cheek. “And you, do you--”

“How could I not, with you making moon eyes at me from across battlefields,” Laurent said.

Damen laughed and pressed his lips in a line up to Laurent’s ear. “Across whole kingdoms, if you’ll let me,” he whispered.

“I will,” Laurent said. “Will you let me, in return? I am bound to be scandalous at some point.”

Damen nibbled on Laurent’s ear. “I’m counting on it,”

“Then let us scandalize the world,” Laurent said.


	6. Epilogue

Laurent smoothed his clothing one more time, then ordered the delegation forward. The city of Ios gleamed alabaster against the deep blue sky. Children ran ahead of them, calling the people to come see.

It had been four months since he and Damen had parted. Long months of letters, hastily scrawled and sent by the fastest messengers. Long months of rebuilding kingdoms torn apart by misrule and greed.

Laurent’s heart beat faster as the gates of the city opened. He didn’t even try to quell his reaction. Damen rode out first, clad in silver. He was… He was magnificent. It was hard to believe a man existed who looked like him, and yet.

Damen’s smile was not that of a magnificent, kingly man. It was that of a romance-addled boy. Laurent considered telling him that right here, but from the way his mouth was stretched, he gathered he might look much the same.

“Brother,” Damen said. “Welcome to Akielos. What is ours is yours.” His eyes lingered on Laurent. Good.

“Vere is honored to be here.” Laurent’s eyes caught in Damen’s and he couldn’t remember if there were more ceremonial words to be said. The sun glinted off highlights in Damen’s hair. Oh, yes. “Your city is magnificent,” Laurent said, but he was looking at Damen the whole time.

“As is--” Damen stopped himself in the middle of the formulaic words. He shook his head and laughed. “Let us stop this and get you and your retinue inside. I believe we have much to show you, and much to discuss.”

~

Much, much later, they lay sated on Damen’s furs. Sated for now. “So, the child is yours after all?” Laurent asked. He’d warned Damen that Jokaste might not have been truthful about the parentage of the baby. Damen shrugged. “So the midwives believe, but it is hard to say. Either way, she is my blood, and innocent.” 

Laurent nodded. "She can grow up untainted by her mother's ideas, since you exiled Jokaste as you should. Thankfully, you listened about Kastor, also."

Damen grimaced. "If he’d been allowed to live, it would have been a constant issue. In the end, I couldn’t do it myself, though.”

“Better it were done by judgment of the Council. You did the right thing.” Laurent played with the wrist-cuff that Damen still wore on his arm. “If I had been here, I would have done it for you, of course.”

“Of course.” Damen rolled so his hand lay on Laurent’s matching cuff. “Are we in accord, then? It will be the scandal of the century. And chart a new path for our kingdoms.”

“We are in accord. We’ll build a joint capital so grand, so beautiful, that no one will mourn the old ones. I believe it will work, so long as we each travel throughout our own kingdoms each year. That way, the people everywhere in our kingdoms will feel our presence.”

Damen nodded.

“Now,” Laurent said. “There is something I have been wanting to try.” He inched down so his mouth was over Damen’s more than impressive cock.

A line appeared in Damen’s forehead. “You do not have to do that. I know it is fraught with bad memories for you. It doesn’t matter. I just want you. I don’t care how.” He tipped Laurent’s face up with an outstretched hand.

“Do I do anything I don’t want to do?” Laurent asked. “Is this not something I have explained, that I wish to do this, that I crave the taste of you on my tongue, that I want to hear the sounds you make when I--”

“Oh, gods,” Damen groaned, letting his head crash back down into the bed. “You are going to kill me.”

“Mm,” Laurent said. “But not before you have a great amount of fun.”

Damen’s response was not in words.

~ ~ The End ~ ~

**Author's Note:**

> When there is no enemy within, the enemies outside cannot hurt you. – Winston Churchill
> 
> HUGE thanks to Idahophoenix, Lferion and Lilacsigil, who performed heroic beta and hand holding work. Any mistakes and issues are solely mine!


End file.
